


The sculptor.

by alcoholinspired



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholinspired/pseuds/alcoholinspired
Summary: Short AU inspired by Ovid's writing: Pygmalion and the statue.





	The sculptor.

Living alone like a hermit, hidden in the Wilds, a man was known to reside. A lonely man, who no one knew his name but speculate his heritage, they called him Anders, no one knew why he lived alone, or why he never married.

No one could know what was in that man's heart, what forbidden desires and aggravations it held. He looked to the women, many of them of fine figures, but he could only see empty shells for frivolous desires and treacherous impulses, none of them held his gaze, none of them had the grace, the strength and beauty of his of his prohibited love, a platonic hopeless love for a woman dead long before he was on his mother's womb, who fought and was sacrificed for freedom, giving her life to the noblest goal, their holy saviour eternalized into many statues of varied materials, Andraste herself, the Andraste to whom prays and pilgrimages where dedicated. But for Anders, that woman was much more than what a symbol and a prophet should be, and he knew very well his desire was a taboo, if someone by some wicked turn of the destiny uncovered it, he would be punished before all the people of the Chantry, that he would be marked with shame for all to see.

But while the truth could be hidden from the others, it could not be hidden from his heart, not when he looked to the statue of his forbidden love on the street, covered with modest clothes and a crown, fitting for a prophet, not a lover, not when the blistering jealousy showed it's ugly face on his heart when the faithful, or not so, touched her feet in search of a blessing.

He used to spend many hours looking to the statue, trying to guess what was hidden under that clothes, painting forms and curves that were impossible to say with the clothes sculpted. So one day he decided it was enough of looking and guessing, it was enough waiting for a woman that would never hold the same brave heart and gorgeous looks of his muse, and gathered enough snow-white ivory to make a woman of natural size, arranged the best tools a sculptor could have, and disappeared into the Wilds.

The next months Anders spent working on making a statue of Andraste for himself, but his one would be only for himself; shaping the hard material into a very feminine body that yet held the contours of a warrior, carving onto its body the minimum details, folds, fingernails, muscles, and the bone shape where the skin should be more delicate. He carved with the care reserved to lovers the parts that made her a woman and its breasts, perfect perky breasts with nipples so well made that looked more real than a real woman. With the devotion of a painter painting his most grandiose picture, he carved her face, a face of a young woman, with eyes so true and determined, pure like a transparent lake. He carved a face so beauty that could make justice to a woman that charmed the Maker himself. With the same skillful hands he made her hair, framing her face with revolted strands that fell over her forehead and others around her face, the length of her hair braided in a style that could settle on a queen or a fighter.

And after months his work was finished, he looked to it with wide open eyes, stunned, marveled, enthusiastic, passionate. She was there, at his front in all her naked glory, so much more perfect than any other woman he ever saw, so much more real than any other person. Her pose, her face, directed at him as if the ivory statue wanted to talk, as if his secret dream woman was about to walk to him, embrace him and let he claim her lips. As if all the devotion he put in making her could turn the ivory into flesh. Anders could not contain himself and gave the first kiss on her lips, looking deep into the eyes he made, said:

"I should give you a name, a beautiful name. I promise I'll think one." He said then kissed her again.

The days went by; Anders touches her body, feeling the material imagining it was real flesh, sometimes doubting his senses, caressing her and her curves with care not to bruise her, mistaking the ivory for skin. He talks to her, smiling to responses he wished her to say; addresses her with compliments, and brings gifts; necklaces, girdles, rings, and ornaments for her hair and ear. He dresses her, sometimes with clothes that would highlight her features, other times with clothes suited for a prophet, enjoying his sacred made ritual of caring for her. He brings her polished stones, pearls and Andraste's grace flowers; Anders also found a cat, a little tabby, for he was very fond of its wild pattern, and the animal quickly found its place near his statue, and for him it was peace and bliss.

He arranged the statue on his bed with clean and perfumed sheets in the most comfortable way, resting her head on soft pillows. Anders kisses the statue's lips and in his head his kisses are returned, in his heart it was true and it was love, it was a love he dared not to say out loud for he was ashamed, for he knew if someone else entered that little bubble of love he made for himself he would be marked forever and his lady taken away.

One day he came up to the statue excited and said:

"I think I have a name for you my love, do you wanna hear it?" He said holding her hands, but who responded was the cat with a meow.

"No not you, I already named you!" He said looking down to the cat who was near the statue.

The cat meowed again.

"That's right." He said to the cat and faced the statue again. "I'll name you Marian, what do you think about it?"

Anders looked to her and she seemed so real, so perfect. From now on she would be his Marian, his beloved's name.

Then it came the Satinalia, the greatest holiday, where the festivities were wide and people gave gifts and made offers. He went to the town and knelt in front of Andraste's altar, with a humble box of his few and yet more precious objects he had to offer, he prayed hopping his prophet could answer:

"Great and wise Andraste, Bride of the Maker, if you can grant all things, I wish as a bride to have..." but shame interrupted his pray and he couldn't dare to say “the girl of ivory”, so instead he said “one like my ivory girl.”

As if touched by the hand of Andraste herself, a spirit of Justice, lost in this mortal realm, looking to every corner and every face as a children learning to speak and crawl, heard Anders pray, having seen goodness spread among this world ugliness like the stars on their heavens, and not being only a spirit of Justice but something else, something more, the spirit looked to the mortal praying to the statue and could see there was truth and there was goodness in his appeal. So the spirit went to the place the man lived and found the statue, resting on the bed with a cat by its side, a curious animal looking with it's big eyes directly to the ethereal presence. The statue was made of ivory but looked so real that the spirit asked itself if it wasn't a real woman lying there, but it had already made its mind and so it entered the statue, merging it's ethereal consistence with the hard ivory particles in a way one wouldn't be without the other anymore.

Anders made the way back to his home, weighting in his heart his plea and his feels for his creation. When he arrived home he sat by the statue's side, still there like he had left her, with a curious cat sat by her side looking fixed to it with a waving tail; he bent down to kiss her and for the first time he felt warmness on her, he felt the hard ivory yield to his kiss, it could not be, maybe it was a delusion, so he kissed her again and touched her breast, it surrendered to his touch just like the lips, the round breast was soft under his hand, it's nipple sensible, the skin tender. It could not be real, had he passed out? Was it a dream? He was not certain, but if it was a dream, then let it be. He continued to kiss her, more intense than before, touching her with both hands, and the same continued to happen, hard ivory turning to tender flesh.  
  
He separated from her, afraid to be wrong, wishing it was real, and called her name:

"Marian?!"

She gasped, air filling her lungs, forcing his hand up with the movement, it was then that he felt the throbbing of a heart under his hand, it was real, she was real, he looked to her eyes, the eyes he shaped, they were of a light celestial blue, with long black eye-lashes highlighting them, her hair also pitch black, with the revolted brands upon her forehead and framing her face, her skin was pale like the ivory he made her and the lips reddened by his kisses, he touched her face with a hand, not moving away the one upon her breast, and felt the tender skin of her face and the softness of her hair, she looked to him and blushed a pink hue that gave another tone of life.

He was marveled, it happened, Andraste granted his wish and gave life to the woman made after her. He was confused whether to keep the happiest smile on his face till it hurt, go back to the altar and thank the prophet with all the prays he knew, or to stay with the woman he so much loved, but when she touched him all his doubts went to the Void and they made it there and then.

The spirit that possessed the statue made woman now had a vessel to feel the world with its own hand, a vessel more new to this world than it was, and yet capable of presenting a whole new variety of feelings and emotions. There was beauty in that little place of this plane, it could feel the love Anders had for Marian, and the love she had for him, it was something beautiful, something true to hold on, and as it felt the man's touch by her new gained skin, it was sure the touch it received to go find the statue was the bliss needed to guide it on a world so rich in detail, so confusing and enthralling.


End file.
